


The Subtle Art of Sisterhood

by MinervaFan



Series: Recreating the World in Her Image [2]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 20:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19217161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaFan/pseuds/MinervaFan
Summary: “How do you stay so positive, when everything we’ve ever known, everything we’ve been taught to believe is nothing but…” She sniffed, unable to look into Hilda’s kind expression. “Nothing but half-truths, suppressed information, and outright lies?”Hilda smiled, stroking her fingers through Zelda’s sinking curls. “All any of us have to work with are half-truths, suppressed information, and outright lies, love. That’s called life. We do the best we can.”





	The Subtle Art of Sisterhood

**Author's Note:**

> While Poor Mary is losing her mind in a fit of anxiety-driven compulsive cleaning, the Spellman Sisters have issues of their own to deal with.

I Funerals

It’s never been necessary for Hilda to use a clock. She’d been rising with the dawn so long that her internal rhythms were set for eternity. She knew the comings and goings of the seasons, felt the lengthening and shortening of days, without the need for calendars or almanacs or even a wrist watch. 

 

And she knew without doubt that her sister was avoiding her. Ever since the first time Sabrina had broached the subject of Mary Wardwell, Zelda had found a way to  _ not _ have the conversation that needed to be had. Two nights now, she’d stayed up working long after the witching hour, sliding into their room after the pull of sleep and the promise of an early morning had won Hilda over.

 

Tonight, though, no amount of exhaustion was going to deny Hilda. She pretended sleep as Zelda entered the room quietly, then sat up abruptly. “Oh, good, you’re here,” she chirped, seeing the sigh escape Zelda’s breast before she could pull down that veil of composure.

 

“I didn’t mean to wake you, sister,” Zelda said formally. She carried several folders in one arm, a crystal shot glass filled with whiskey in the other.

 

“That’s obvious,” Hilda snorted. At Zelda’s lifted eyebrow, she added, “You can’t avoid the subject of Mary Wardwell forever.”

 

“I’m not avoiding anything. It’s simply not a priority. You should understand that.” She swept onto her bed gracefully.

 

“We can’t just pretend it hasn’t happened, Zelds,” she began before her sister could even open the folder she’d rested on her lap after setting her whiskey on the nightstand and slipping under the bedclothes. “We can’t just pretend it will all go away on its own.” The scathing look on her older sister’s face might have intimidated Hilda once, but war toughens even the most delicate soul. 

 

Zelda attempted to open the file, then stopped when the younger witch gave a light snort. “It is  _ none _ of our affair, Hilda. We have enough to do with our own kind, or have you forgotten the time we’ve spent burying the majority of our coven?”

 

“We most certainly have an obligation to her, sister. She’s alone, confused. Probably scared out of her wits.”

 

Zelda took a sip of her whiskey and smiled tightly. “That’s why mortals have therapy, dear, so that we don’t have to hear about their problems.”

 

“And what therapist is going to be able to work with, ‘Oh, hey, I lost months of my life, think I might’ve died, and came back to find my whole life changed and I just  _ might _ be completely mad…?’ Honestly….”

 

“ _ Honestly _ , Hilda, it is not our problem.” She sighed, placing the unopened file on the nightstand. “It’s not that I don’t feel compassion for the woman. But we have problems of our own. We don’t have the resources to help our own people, much less some random mortal.”

 

“But she’s  _ not _ random, is she? She’s Sabrina’s favorite teacher, and she was chosen for that very reason, wasn’t she? To get close to Sabrina?”

 

“Well…”

 

“ _ And _ Lilith (praise her) didn’t just  _ borrow _ her life, did she? She changed it. She changed every aspect of it, didn’t she now? How she looked, how she acted, who knows what else?” Hilda plumped the pillows at her lower back fiercely, a clear signal she was on a roll. “She came in from the depths of hell, took over, then just dumped this poor woman without a clue or explanation to deal with the mess? Didn’t she?”

 

“It’s unfortunate, but we’re at war. There are bound to be casualties…”

 

“Listen to yourself!” Hilda snorted again, rolling her eyes. “‘ _ Casualties _ !’ Bollocks!”

 

Zelda’s breath came sharply and her fist went to her own pillow just as hard as Hilda’s had only moments before. “What do you want me to do, Hilda? We have our own wounded. We are cut off from Rome, cut off from the other covens, we’re  _ on our own _ . Don’t you get that? Do you even  _ begin _ to comprehend how perilous our fledgeling church is? Do you think the forces of the Dark Lord are simply going to leave us alone to enjoy our freedom?”

 

“So we throw this woman to the wolves? We just let her suffer, because we’re  _ so much better _ than the Church of NIght?” Hilda’s breathing was slightly labored, pulse pounding in her veins. “You may not know this, but coming back from the dead  _ hurts. _ It’s a freaking nightmare, even when you know what you’re doing. Granted, Mary Wardwell didn’t have to claw her way through the dirt of a Cain pit…” If she noticed the slight reaction from her sister, Hilda did not let it slow her rant. “But she still has to clean up the damned mess.” She paused for a breath, purposely calming her temper. “Look, Zelds, I’ve only ever been dead for a few hours at most…”

 

“Six hours, seventeen minutes…” Zelda supplied softly.

 

“She’s been dead for months.” She shifted onto her left hip, rolling over to face her sister in the bed next to her. “When you’re breathing in daylight one minute, and climbing out into the dark of night the next, it’s disconcerting. She lost three seasons. She missed an entire school year. Nothing in her life makes sense, and she’s going through it all alone. Sabrina says she showed up once at Baxter High and hasn’t been back for a week.”

 

“And what are we to do?”

 

“I don’t know, sister. But we owe her. Lilith (praise her)  _ owes _ Mary Wardwell.” She plumped her pillow, folding it into the crook of her elbow as she stretched out. “It was Mary’s sacrifice that put her in place to keep an eye on Sabrina. She lived in Mary’s house. And unless I’m mistaken,” Hilda lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I strongly suspect that something happened to Lilith as Mary that, I dunno, softened her. Gave her the courage or the hope or whatever it was that allowed her to do the right thing in the end.”

 

Zelda considered it for a moment. “I will pray on it,” she said. “And we’ll figure something out.” She tilted her head slightly. “Before Sabrina decides to take the salvation of Mary Wardwell into her own reckless hands…”

 

Hilda laughed. “Heaven forbid!”

 

II Rites

 

_ Hail to you, Lilith of the Night! _

_ First among women, Mother of Magic, _

_ I pray you, hear this woman’s voice _

_ As you have heard the voices of  _

_ All your daughters in their time. _

 

_ Ancient Lilith, Mother of Us All,  _

_ Your song rings true in the ears  _

_ Of those will not be silenced, _

_ Whose voices rise in anger _

_ As well as in joy. _

 

_ Wise Lilith, I beseech you, _

_ Answer the humble prayer _

_ Of she who would serve you, _

_ Your faithful daughter. _

 

“That chant is nice _. _ Is it new?”

 

Zelda resisted the urge to spin toward the voice behind her. Slowly, she turned towards Lilith, who stood magnificent in the torchlight, crown glimmering atop her head. She wore a blood red cape, hood draped over her wild curls. The witch noticed her Queen still wore Mary Wardwell’s face, whether for Zelda’s comfort or out of some sense of nostalgia, she could not be sure. “I found the existing prayers to be... _ lacking _ in respect, so I tried my hand at a new one.”

 

Lilith crossed the clearing, a sly smile on her face as she took in the circle Zelda had drawn in the forest clearing. “I like it,” she said, gesturing towards the offerings set at the altar within the pentagram. “All of it. Seems a bit elaborate; I mean, you’ve  _ got _ my cell number.”

 

“This was more of an  _ official _ call,” Zelda murmured.

 

“Oooh, cast the circle, light the torches, the whole shebang.” The smile on Lilith’s face was genuine, relaxed, as she took a tea cake from the altar and bit into it. She winked. “Well, it’s  _ mine _ , isn’t it?” Lilith popped the rest of the tea cake into her mouth, licking the crumbs off her fingers. “Ooh, lavender. Did you bake this?” At Zelda’s non-committal shrug, she laughed. “Give Hilda my compliments.” Clapping her hands gently to remove the final bits of crumb from her skin, she said, “Now.  _ Official _ business. What’s got you bribing me with poetry and sweets, High Priestess?”

 

Zelda drew in a slow breath, a hesitant look marring her aristocratic features.

 

“ _ That _ official, huh?” Lilith said. Gathering the flowing train of her gown, she dropped into a cloud of blood red fabric to sit on the grass in the center of the magical circle. “Have a seat,” she added, patting the grass beside her.

 

In a single graceful motion, Zelda half-sat, half-knelt on the ground next to the ancient witch. “It’s not so much a problem, Mother Lilith, as a…” She paused, searching for the right word. “A public relations issue.” She steeled herself and continued. “It’s about Mary Wardwell.” 

 

Lilith’s eyebrows shot up. “Was Sabrina not happy with her second gift? I thought for sure she’d be happy to have her back.”

 

Zelda’s hands spread slightly in protest before her. “No, no, no.  _ Of course _ , Sabrina was thrilled to see her teacher again. It’s just…” She sighed. “From what we’re told, Ms. Wardwell is having a difficult adjustment back into her life.” Before Lilith could respond, Zelda hurriedly added, “I know it seems a trivial matter, compared to what we... _ you _ are up against, milady. I hesitated to even bring it up with you, but…” Another shrug. “My sister reminded me that if we are going to be different from our predecessors, then we cannot…just…” She shook her head. “Abandon her.”

 

A frown formed on Lilith’s face, creasing the skin of her forehead as she considered her high priestess’s words. “I don’t understand. She’s perfectly healthy, I made sure of that. And I didn’t use any of her money, so with the increased salary, she shouldn’t be having financial problems. And let’s face it, I only  _ improved _ that wardrobe of hers…”

 

“But that’s just it, don’t you see? Her life isn’t...well,  _ hers _ anymore, is it? It’s yours.” After a moment to be certain her goddess had not taken offense at her frankness, Zelda continued. “According to Sabrina’s friends, she lasted about half a day at her job, left and hasn’t returned in almost a week.”

 

“Having spent more than my share of time in that benighted hall of mis-education, I hardly blame her for taking some personal time.”

 

“She has not answered her phone.”

 

“She still has a  _ landline _ . It probably died of shame.” Zelda frowned, and Lilith’s light tone vanished immediately. “Should I not have brought her back?” she asked softly.

 

“It’s not my place to say, Mother Lilith,” the witch answered demurely. “But, as she  _ has _ been brought back, it would seem the burden of responsibility for her well-being, at least during this transitional period, falls to the Church of Lilith.”

 

The Mother of Demons shifted slightly, nodding as she considered Zelda’s words. “Well, I certainly have no objections if you choose to reach out to her.”

 

“Thank you, but the question of the matter remains  _ how _ do we approach this? There are gaps in her memories,  _ huge _ gaps. And she is bound to have questions.”

 

“No doubt.”

 

Zelda’s lips pursed, an expression of barely-concealed frustration flitting across her face. “Unfortunately, my lady, I have  _ no answers _ to her inevitable questions. Such as,  _ why her _ ?” 

 

It was Lilith’s turn to hesitate. “Well, that’s a tricky knot to unravel.”

 

“Try.” The resolve was apparent in Zelda’s eyes. “You had an entire faculty to choose from, those who would have had more power and influence to move your plan forward.”

 

“And if I’d wanted to come through like a sledgehammer, I’d have taken Principal Hawthorne. But frankly, as I had to  _ live _ in that body…” She shuddered. “ _ No. _ ” 

 

“Surely someone else would have…” Zelda threw up her hands in frustration. “ _ Mary Wardwell? _ I mean, the transition itself was hardly subtle. If you wanted to fly under the radar, she was not the best choice to make.”

 

Lilith drew in a long breath. “If there had been more time, of course I would have found a more suitable host. But I needed someone close to Sabrina, someone who’d already earned her trust.”

 

“So you could more easily manipulate her?”

 

That earned Zelda a hard glare, but no further rebuke. “Also, the possession was going to last days, possibly even weeks.” A dark laugh escaped her. “Honestly, if I’d thought I’d spend  _ months _ as Mary Wardwell…”

 

“You would have what?” 

 

She didn’t answer the question. Instead, Lilith tilted her head slightly in a matter-of-fact gesture. “Mary was the most compatible host. She had the personal connection, and her physical body was… Zelda, possession of a human form is not an easy thing. The human host must be physically compatible.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

Lilith put her hand on Zelda’s, her blue eyes so clear and dark. “I needed a body that was capable of supporting magic. I needed a host with witch blood in their veins, one not of the coven, who also possessed the other traits necessary to my cause..”

“But, Mary Wardwell is not a…”

 

“No, she’s not. But…” Lilith grasped her priestess’s hands gently. “If you want answers, I suggest you seek out a book in the restricted area of the library at the Academy of Unseen Arts. A diary, by Sister Amelia Cornwell, filled with things the Dark Lord wanted...suppressed. There are things you do not understand, that your kind were never meant to understand. Things purposefully concealed in order to keep you docile and obedient.” The expression on her face spoke of millennia spent as a part of the web of lies they’d only recently begun to unravel. “When you’ve read it, you’ll understand why I chose Mary. And perhaps, you’ll know better how to deal with the aftermath.”

 

She lifted Zelda’s hands to her lips, kissed them gently, and stood.

 

“Is there anything else, milady?” Zelda asked. “Anything I should know before I speak with her?

 

A dark expression clouded Lilith’s fine features, and her lips pursed slightly as she drew a deep breath in through her nose. She sighed before speaking. “There is one other thing. I wouldn’t bring it up first, but…” A look of sadness flitted across her face. “I should probably tell you about Adam.”

 

“Adam?” The witch’s look was incredulous. “You don’t mean…”

 

“ _ No _ , not him. Mary’s Adam,” she shrugged.  “Mary Wardwell... _ had _ ...an Adam.”

 

III Rituals

 

There was something comforting about the garden at sunrise. Hilda paused, sitting back on her knees to survey the bounty. The peas and broccoli were already making their presence known, and cauliflower, beets, and greens should be up in a couple of weeks. She’d have the ravenous hordes eating fresh veg in no time, despite their overly carnivorous ways.

 

She’d had a lot of help in the garden since The Event, thanks to the number of coven members currently squatting in the Mortuary. She wasn’t about to let those poor motherless souls out on their own after what Blackwood had done to their families, and gladly Zelda had agreed. All but the most self-sufficient survivors had stayed right where they were, with Hilda playing house mum whilst Zelda got to work rebuilding the wreckage of the Church in Mother Lilith’s name.

 

The sun felt warm on her skin, and Hilda allowed herself to simply enjoy the moment. The smell of soil and sunlight lulled her into the most delicious sense of peace, as it always had, since she’d been a small child lying on her belly in the dirt, observing the patterns of the bugs and spiders and snails in her mum’s garden. It had all been so much simpler then.

 

“Fall asleep?” A Zelda-shaped shadow crossed into her sunlight, and Hilda blinked open her eyes immediately.

 

“You’re up early,” she said. “Or late, I gather?” 

 

Zelda stood before her in the same clothes she’d worn the previous day, still neat, but looking a bit less than freshly pressed. She moved slightly, and the shadow that had obscured her face cleared. “Can I join you?” The elder Spellman did not wait for an answer. Rather, she lowered herself onto her knees besides Hilda. “The lettuce is coming in nicely,” she observed.

 

“That’s kale. And yes, it is coming in nicely. Zelda?” Her voice shifted upwards slightly. “Where were you last night? You hadn’t come in when I fell asleep, and your bed wasn’t slept in.” Hilda caught herself, blushing slightly as it occurred to her that her sister might have been out... _ relieving tension _ …. “None of my business, of course,” she added hurriedly. “No offense meant.”

 

“None taken.” Shaking her head, Zelda leaned forward and absently started picking the leaves off of one of the cauliflower plants. 

 

“Stop that,” Hilda scolded without thinking.

 

“Oh!” Zelda’s chagrined look faded quickly. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep in the library at the Academy. I took your advice and asked for help with the Mary Wardwell problem.”

 

“And…?”

 

It was as if all the  _ Zeldaness _ of her evaporated with the heavy sigh she released. “She’s a goddess, all right. Ask her a question, and get a thousand more questions.”

 

“Sweet brimstone, what did she tell you?”

 

“She gave me a name, Amelia Cornwell. That one name led me down a rabbit hole…” Zelda shut her eyes fiercely. “Hilda, I can’t even  _ begin _ to unravel the implications of what I’ve seen.”

 

“What is it?”

 

But Zelda just shook her head. “When I think of how long Lilith lived, and watched...and what she saw.” Another deep, hard breath. “It’s a wonder she didn’t burn the whole place to the ground when she had the chance.” 

 

“Poor lamb.” Hilda picked off her thick gloves, laying them neatly beside her as she pushed a stray lock of hair from her sister’s forehead. “You look bone tired. When was the last time you actually got a good night’s sleep?”

 

“I’m sleeping fine,” Zelda snapped.

 

“We sleep in the  _ same room _ , Zelds, so there’s not much point trying that with me, is there?” Hilda cupped her cheek affectionately. “You don’t have to do this all on your own, you know. You’re not alone.”

 

To her amazement, a single tear streamed down Zelda’s cheek, followed by one, then another. “How do you do it?” Zelda’s voice was soft, as if she was afraid the mere act of speaking would release the avalanche of emotion she had been holding inside for...hell knew how long.

 

“Do what, sweet?” Hilda pulled Zelda into a fierce hug, breathing soft kisses into her sun-warmed hair. “Come on, now, what’s this all about?”

 

Zelda pushed away at the tears with a single, angry swipe. “How do you stay so positive, when everything we’ve ever known, everything we’ve been taught to believe is nothing but…” She sniffed, unable to look into Hilda’s kind expression. “Nothing but half-truths, suppressed information, and outright lies?”

 

Hilda smiled, stroking her fingers through Zelda’s sinking curls. “All  _ any  _ of us have to work with are half-truths, suppressed information, and outright lies, love. That’s called life. We do the best we can.” She chuckled as her sister’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Zelds, you have been the most devout person I’ve ever known in my whole life. You believed all of this because of who you are…”

 

“An idiot. A fool. Gullible…”

 

“ _ No _ ! An honorable person. Someone who truly believes in what she believes. People think I’m the naive one, Zelds, but you’ve  _ always _ been more trusting than me in some ways.”

 

Zelda dropped her face into her hands, groaning softly in frustration. “How the  _ hell _ am I supposed to rebuild a church when my faith in that very church is lower than it’s ever been?” Looking up into Hilda’s sympathetic eyes, she said, “They  _ lied _ to us, Hilda. They  _ stole _ something from us that was...” Her words were muffled in the warmth of Hilda’s dress as she was pulled even tighter into the embrace.

 

“Stop that. Stop that right now, sister mine.” Hilda sniffed loudly, cradling Zelda against her as she pointed to a spot of dandelions pushing through the soil on the next row. “You see those flowers? Most people think they’re weeds. But they’re pretty, right? Nice to look at on a summer morning?”

 

“They’re weeds, Hilda,” Zelda sniffed.

 

“Right. They’re lovely, delicate flowers out in a field, but when they get into your garden, they can choke all your lovely plants and kill your garden. That’s why we pluck them out. So that what we want to grow can  _ grow _ .”

 

Despite herself, Zelda snuggled a bit into Hilda’s embrace. “Is there a point to this gardening analogy, sister, or are you just looking for manual labor?”

 

That got a crooked, toothy smile from the young Spellman witch.”Now  _ there’s _ the sarcastic Zelds I know and love.” She chuckled and planted a soft kiss on her sister’s forehead. “Your job with the church is the same job I have in the garden. Keep what’s good and take out the rest.” She sighed. “Sometimes, people in charge have very strange ideas of what’s good and what should be weeded out.”

 

“It’s so much….”

 

“Look, I’m not the most religious person in the world. Hell, I scribbled part of my sacred oath on the inside of my cuff just to pass the final exam in Sister Darden’s class back at the Academy…” When this didn’t even get a shocked look from Zelda, she continued. “But I do know how to listen. Whatever it is you learned in those books, whatever weeds we have to pull or roots we need to replant, we can do it.  _ Together. _ ” She pointed to the remaining rows. “I’ve got to get through those rows before I go in to start breakfast. I’ll weed. You talk.” She squeezed her sister lightly, then released her to grab the gloves. With a quick nod, she added, “Or you could get off your bum and help me…”

 

That garnered the first smile she’d seen from Zelda in days. “You know I never garden in these clothes, sister.”

 

“You never garden  _ period, _ miss! Now, talk.”

 

And as she began to pull the dandelions from the soil, Zelda guided her down the twisted rabbit hole that began with the diary of Amelia Cornwell.

 

IV Restoration

 

“You are not  _ seriously _ considering bringing a casserole, Hildegard.” Zelda fussed with her hair, tucking an errant strand back into the French twist from which it had fallen.

 

Hilda tsked as she tucked the cover on tightly and secured it with a tiny spell. “We can’t just arrived unannounced and empty-handed, Zelda. That would be rude.”

 

“Satan’s hoof, Hilda, this isn’t a funeral, and we aren’t Southern Baptists….”

 

“Poor dear probably hasn’t had a decent meal since she’s been back. Nice broccoli casserole, fresh from the garden.” She shrugged happily as she set the dish down on the counter and pulled on her cardigan. “I mean, wouldn’t  _ you _ appreciate a nice, home-cooked meal?”

 

Zelda took a deep drag from her cigarette. “ _ I’d _ appreciate a good bottle of  Macallan single malt and six months in St. Tropez, but we don’t always get what we want, Hilda. Now will you please hurry up?”

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she chuckled. “You’re only cross because you’re nervous.”

 

“I am most certainly  _ not _ nervous,” Zelda corrected. “I just would like to get this over as quickly and expediently as possible. I don’t have all day to waste on one skinny mortal woman.”

 

Hilda placed a quick peck on her cheek. “It’ll be  _ fine _ , Zelds,” she whispered. Calling up the stairs, she added in a louder voice, “We’re off, Sabrina.”

 

“Sure you don’t want me to come?” Sabrina called back.

 

“No, love,” Hilda yelled. “It’s better we handle this one on our own. I promise, once things are sorted out, we’ll fill you in on the details. There’s casserole in the fridge if you get hungry.

 

Zelda rollled her eyes. “Are we done yet?”

 

With a defiant sniff, Hilda pushed passed her to the front door. “Yes. Yes, we’re done now, thank you.”

 

-

 

It was another long, ridiculous argument about whether it would be better to drive the hearse or apparate to Mary Wardwell’s cottage. Zelda knew her temper was getting the better of her, and Hilda’s prattling was only setting it off more.

 

Actually, it was her nerves that were getting the better of her, if truth were told. This Wardwell woman was not the problem, of course. She was a pawn in a much larger game, just as they all were. A game that started at the dawn of humanity, fixed and weighted against them from the very start. She bit her lip and remained silent as Hilda stumbled slightly over a stone in the path up to the Wardwell cottage, then laughed as she righted herself.

 

As they walked together in silence, Zelda tried to remember Mary Wardwell before Lilith had taken over. She’d had blessed few interactions with anyone from Sabrina’s mortal school over the years. Hilda had usually seen to it. The one time she’d been forced to have a conference with the hideous principal Lilith had replaced had been more than enough. An image of the human woman popped into her mind - timid, birdlike, smile brighter than one would expect from such a... _ plain _ woman.

 

Her face had lit up upon meeting Sabrina’s aunt, and she gushed on enthusiastically about how well her niece was doing and what a bright future she expected for the child. 

 

Her basic opinion of Mary Wardwell had been “forgettable.” Well, “ _ Nice _ , and forgettable.”

 

That forgettable woman carried in her blood the key to the unraveling of Zelda’s entire worldview.

 

“Here we are, then,” Hilda said as she made her way to the front door. “Shall I knock?” At Zelda’s glare, she added, “Right, then. Knocking.”

 

Zelda felt her stomach knotting as they waited for the mortal woman to answer. Telling these things to Hilda was one thing; sharing it with a practical stranger was another.

 

Mary Wardwell opened the door. Her hair was pulled back into a loose tail at the nape of her neck, and she wore a faded Class of 84 jersey and pale jeans. She looked as if she’d been crying.

 

The sight of her was a punch in the stomach. Zelda couldn’t help stare at the woman she’d come to know as Lilith, Mother of All Witches. This tiny creature in the doorway, avoiding eye contact, stumbling over a quick apology for the supposed disorder of what appeared to be a spotless home.

 

She searched that face, a feeling of almost desperation clutching at her as she tried to see the connection between this woman and the First Woman. 

 

But when Hilda offered up the covered dish, Mary smiled gratefully.

 

And just for a second, she saw it.  _ There _ , in the shift of her eyes. There, in the tiny trace of ironic humor that curled her lips.

 

Zelda Spellman breathed in deeply, steeling herself for what might possibly be the most awkward conversation of her life.

 

“ We thought you might like a nice casserole,” Hilda said as she stepped into the immaculate living room.

“And some answers,” Zelda add, closing the door behind her.

  
  
The End  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I know this is a horrible place to end it, but I will have the third story in the series up asap.


End file.
